


The Iron Maiden

by Georgiana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Real Person Fiction, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AND SWEET, Alternative Canon, Avengers' Actors RPF, But Also Kinda Funny, Gen, If You Stick With it, It Will Get Weird, Just Plain Ole Weird, Not Gross Weird, The Author's Weird Head Canon, a love letter to the fandom, alternative universe, trust me y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Georgiana/pseuds/Georgiana
Summary: A burst of honest laughter trickled through her phone, and Kate was once more awash in familiarity. “Are you kiddin’?” said the man. “This phone call is the greatest experience of my life.”She snorted. “I aim to please,” Kate said, and clicked her pen closed. The voice seemed too casual and unhurried to belong to a salesperson. A man who worked on commission would not have tolerated her frank rebuff of a potential sale.“Sorry, I’m bein’ a brat,” she continued. Gradually, she stretched out her legs, and popped her stocking-clad toes. “How can I help you?” Her fingernails scraped the baby-curls at the tip of her hairline. “Actually, wait, no, first, who are you?”He didn’t hesitate. Years later, Kate would still remember the frankness of his introduction.“Yeah, this is Robert Downey, Jr.”





	1. Chapter 1

_18 August 2018 _  
  
Intelligence operatives and Publisher’s Clearinghouse subscribers notwithstanding, no one ever quite expects their life to change at 2:37 p.m. on a Tuesday. Tuesdays, after all (to paraphrase the Eleventh Doctor) are boring. Certainly, Dr. Kate McGill, Professor of English at the University of G—, did not expect it. She had been encountering 2:37 p.m.s on Tuesdays for nearly thirty years — eight of them in the same smallish, sunlit, book-and-paper-strewn office in which she was then sat — and none of them had been especially scintillating. Mostly, they entailed the slow drip of black coffee, a low stream of 80s Pandora, and a subsequent hour of uninterrupted marking.

There was, however, _always_ a first time for everything. 

At 2:36 p.m., she was sat cross-legged at her time-battered desk, rifling through a collection of freshly printed freshman essays. She was clad in her standard professional fare: black pencil skirt, white button-down, red lipstick, and pearls. Her catch of wild, palomino curls was pinned to the crown of her head by no fewer than three ink-pens, one of which she retrieved so as to mark the papers in her hand. A sheaf of hair tumbled to the line of her jaw, and mindlessly, Kate blew a puff of air in its direction. The curls remained unmoved, though the crimson stain on her lips smeared to the edge of her mouth. As she began to mark, Kate settled further into her chair.

At 2:37 p.m., the cell-phone perched on the edge of her desk trilled. With her eyes trained upon the paper in her lap, Kate tapped the device’s screen, and then placed it against her ear. 

“Yo,” she greeted, because it was her personal line, and her network provider did not mandate professionalism. 

“Yeah, hi,” returned a clear, masculine voice. “I’m lookin’ for Kate McGill.”

“You found her,” Kate replied while underlining a particularly impressive run-on sentence. The voice was polished — practiced — certain — in the manner of one who speaks often and with purpose. It also seemed familiar, though Kate failed to immediately place it among the aural Rolodex of her recent acquaintance. Instinctively, she suspected a salesperson.

“Fair warnin’, though, darlin’,” she drawled. “If you’re sellin’, I ain’t buyin’; and if you’re buyin’, well: I’ve already been bound, body and soul, to the hallowed halls of academia, so my stock’s pretty low these days.”

A rush of muffled air suggested that the man had suppressed an audible laugh. “Here I thought the stroll through the Ivory Tower was a priceless investment.”

“Intellectually, yes, it is,” she said while circling an especially well-executed analogy. “_Occupationally_, however….” She recorded a short statement of praise in the margin. “The bulk of our annual funding is unquestionably reserved for the sciences and all manner of sports-ball. Ya girl, on the other hand, is a humanist, which means that I’m funded about seventy-five cents, after taxes, a box of Dollar Tree ink-pens, and a stamp,” she enunciated, popping the /p/. “So, unless you’re in the market for a twelve-year-old coffee maker and pro-tips on how to dress up Ramen, I’d rethink this phone call.”

A burst of honest laughter trickled through her phone, and Kate was once more awash in familiarity. “Are you kiddin’?” said the man. “This phone call is the greatest experience of my life.” 

She snorted. “I aim to please,” Kate said, and clicked her pen closed. The voice seemed too casual and unhurried to belong to a salesperson. A man who worked on commission would not have tolerated her frank rebuff of a potential sale. 

“Sorry, I’m bein’ a brat,” she continued. Gradually, she stretched out her legs, and popped her stocking-clad toes. “How can I help you?” Her fingernails scraped the baby-curls at the tip of her hairline. “Actually, wait, no, first, who are you?”

He didn’t hesitate. Years later, Kate would still remember the frankness of his introduction.

“Yeah, this is Robert Downey, Jr.”

Her onyx fingernails stalled in the ridge of one of her curls. A pregnant pause gestated as Kate flipped through the aforementioned aural Rolodex. 

_ Hey, there, Kiddo. _

_ Yeah, this is Robert Downey, Jr. _

_ Close, _ she thought. _ It’s really close. But…. _

“Riiiiiiiight,” drawled Kate, popping the knuckle of her index finger. “And how can I, Tilda Swinton, help you?”

“I’ve met Tilda,” replied the man, seamlessly. “Gotta be honest, in most situations, she’s not that helpful.”

She drummed her fingers atop the arm of her chair. “Cheekbones like that?” Kate muttered. “She doesn’t have to be.” She cleared her throat. “Seriously, who is this?”

“Seriously, this is Robert Downey, Jr.”

In spite of herself, Kate squirmed in her seat. She rolled her lips, again and again, demolishing the crimson sheen of her cosmetic, and pulled free, one by one, the make-shift pins in her hair. A waterfall of tight, blonde curls spilled across her shoulders as Kate’s synapses fired upon the balance of probability that she was indeed speaking to Robert Downey, Jr. 

_ You’re gonna get fakes. You know that, right? Posers. Fake accounts. You gotta be sure that it’s really him, Katie. Otherwise, you’re just gonna embarrass yourself. _

Kate clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Right,” she murmured. “I’m gonna assume that this is in regard to the Great Iron-Prank of 2017.” She tugged at her roots. “Obviously, I appreciate your support, and _ clearly_, I enjoy a good gag as much as the next Internet user. _ However,_” she enunciated, “at the moment, I am hip-deep in a batch of freshman rhetorical analyses, which is _ precisely _as enjoyable as it sounds. So, I suggest that you —.”

“Listen, _ Kiddo_.”

Immediately, the connection between her brain and mouth short-circuited. Her cheeks flamed. Her fingers trembled. A sharp pain shot through her chest, and _ several _long moments transpired before Kate realized that it was because she had ceased to breathe.

“While I appreciate your illustration of the family resemblance,” he continued, “I’m actually on set right now, and I don’t have a lot of time. So, listen to me, and listen closely. All right? Are you listening, Kate?’

Kate _ sincerely _hoped that he didn’t actually require an answer, because suddenly, her tongue felt about ten sizes too big for her mouth. She simply stared, unfocused, into space, as her fingernails dug into the curve of her knee. 

At length, he said it — slowly — clearly — definitively — in a tone that suggested there was no longer room for argument. 

“This is your dad.”

A wave of indescribable emotion rolled from Kate’s hairline to the arches of her feet. Wide-eyed, she turned to the Iron Man coffee mug sat on one corner of her desk. She stared at it until the colors bled, and the handle disappeared, and the sound of his voice ceased to ricochet through her ears. All she could think was, _ Oh, my Marvel_. And then —. 

“_Shut the front door!_” Kate shouted so loudly that she heard someone in the hall squawk in fright. 

Robert’s impish laughter echoed her surprise, and he chuckled, “There’s my girl.”

_ His girl. His girl. His girl. His girl. _

Mindlessly, Kate stood, her hands fluttering in all directions, absent of purpose. “What are —? How did —? _ Why are you calling me!_” Abruptly, she realized that she had no reason to stand, and so fell back into her chair with a _ whoosh_.

The shrug that bounced across Robert’s shoulders was all too audible. “Just a welfare check,” he said, casually. “Have you eaten? Did you do your laundry? What about an allowance? Should we talk about an allowance? I don’t need much. Four, five hundred should suffice.”

That rapid-fire, tongue-in-cheek tone was so comforting to Kate that she nearly tore out her hair. 

“Well, that depends,” she quipped. “Have you done all your chores?”

“Today? No. In the past, oh, forty years or so? Also, no. It’s more of an advance, is what we’re talkin’ about. Four, five, yeah, eight hundred dollars should do it.”

She punched her thigh to keep from screaming. 

“Well, then, I guess you should’ve been a sports-ball player, yeah?”

He snorted. “Yeah, probably.”

Nervous sweat had collected on her neck, arms, and upper lip. She attempted to control her breathing as she wiped it away. 

_ This is why I can’t go to Comic Con_. 

“Seriously, though,” she said, fiddling with the hem of her skirt, “why are you calling me?” She furrowed her brow. “Actually, wait, no, first, _ how _are you calling me? How do you know my number? Did we meet at a lecture series? Were you the guy in the orange turtle-neck who wouldn’t shut up about Hemingway’s cats?”

“Yeah, that’s my hobby,” he returned, whip-quick and deadly serious. “Crashing high-falutin’ college parties. It’s free food, right?”

Kate snorted. “Absolutely.” Her heart was about three seconds from bursting out of her chest. “It’s just a shame that you’re so unoccupied and poor. I almost feel sorry for you.”

“It’s about time someone did. Honestly. It’s long overdue.”

_ This is it, _ she thought. _ This is how I die. And it’s fine. Totally fine. _

After a pause, she said, “So, uh. Are you gonna answer the question? Or is..._ this..._all you needed?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Robert replied, as though it were obvious. “Don’t get me wrong: this conversation is _ giving me life _right now.” 

Kate’s eyes rolled clean down to the back of her throat. 

_ Dear ole Dad. Always Down-ey with the kids. Ha! _

She snorted so hard at her own joke that she nearly missed what he said further. 

“But, uh. I’m actually calling to give something to _ you_. Or, well, _ offer _you something, I guess.” 

Kate furrowed her brow again. “To…? To do what, now?’ she asked. 

In a rush, he asked, “You wanna come to set?”

Instantly, Kate’s heart stopped. “What?” she croaked. 

“To the set of the _ Avengers_,” Robert clarified, as though in reference to Kate, he could _ possibly _be referring to a different set. “You wanna come and, uh — I don’t know — hang out for a couple days?” 

Her jaw unhinged. The blood rushed from her head. The pain in her chest returned, Kate’s lungs banging, open-fists, against her ribs, demanding air. 

“...What?”

“Say, what, four, five days?” Robert continued, either oblivious to or unconcerned with her sudden lack of mental processes. “You can meet the gang, tour the set, sit in on a rehearsal or two. All expenses paid, of course. Maybe a couple T-shirts, too.”

With her free hand, Kate gripped her roots, now damp with sweat. Again, she stood, aimless and teetering on the balls of her feet. 

“_Why_?” she exclaimed. As the incredulity — to say nothing of the rudeness — of her tone nestled in the dips of her ears, she quickly added, “I mean, I’m interested, _ of course_, as well as _ coronary-inducingly _ grateful.” She pressed her hand to her chest in emphasis. “But, I mean….” She fumbled for the words, her fingers drawing circles in the air. “You realize that —. I mean, the only reason you _ know _ me is that —.” Frustrated, she sighed. “You realize that I could be _ psychotic_, right?”

“Oh, you are,” replied Robert, cool and matter-of-fact. “I realized that about an eighth of the way through your Twitter feed.”

His frankness, while refreshing, was not reassuring. Wide-eyed, Kate looked round the Tuesday-afternoon recesses of her office in a mad search for a voice of reason. At length, she sighed, and banged the heel of her hand rhythmically against the lip of her desk. 

“Well, then, _ why _ —?”

“You’re funny,” he said, and once more, the shrug was discernible. “You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re a big fan….” The hesitancy in his inflection made Kate too nervous to move. 

With a sigh, Robert added, “You get it. You get what..._ this _...is supposed to be about.”

She felt it — both the gesture and the emphasis — the height and depth and breadth of _ this_. Of the _ Avengers_. Of _ Iron Man_. Of Cap, and Nat, and Loki, and the Twins, and the capital-M-C-U Marvel Cinematic Universe. She felt it, and as Robert had implied, she _ knew it_, as she knew the smoke-choked rhythm of her poor lungs, and the grainy weight of the pearls against her throat. For all of her degrees, awards, and bylines in the English language and its literature, if Kate McGill knew _ anything_, it was..._this _.

“Besides,” Robert continued, the weight of his tone noticeably diminished, “I think it’s about time I met my favorite kid. Don’t you?”

Gradually, the smirk that Kate was _ positive _lifted Robert’s mouth descended down the wires and through her phone, where it transferred to her own lips. Her gaze dropped to the material scattered across her desk — essays, quizzes, homework responses, and more — all bearing deadlines, responsibilities: contractual obligations by way of bleached-out pulp and ink. 

In the corner of her eye, she spotted the Iron Man mug, somehow more visible, more clearly defined than when she had stared at it head-on. Slowly, she flipped the essay that she had been marking face-down, and stepped away from her desk.

She smiled into her phone and said, “Consider my classes cancelled.”


	2. Chapter 2

_21 February 2018 - Six Months Prior _  
  
At 4:49 a.m. on a Thursday, Robert Downey, Jr’s palms had been planted in the soft, gun-metal sponge-work of the floor in his home yoga studio.His wrists were firm, his elbows straight though unlocked, and his shoulders in perfect alignment with his hips, ankles, and toes. As a general rule, 4:49 a.m.s on Thursdays are no more stimulating than 2:37 p.m.s on Tuesdays, thus lending them to the flawless execution of _ Adho Mukha Vrksasana. _Indeed, the stillness of the room, the inherent softness of the hour, and the gentle rush of music, barely audible above the steady, intentional rhythm of his lungs, created an atmosphere of utter peace.

Robert maintained it for all of ninety seconds before he lost concentration.

With a heavy sigh, he collapsed his legs, and rolled to the floor, where he lay star-fished, eyes unfocused upon the ceiling. A vague restlessness fluttered beneath his skin as a series of overlapping thoughts, loud and disorganized, asserted each their own dominance in his head. Ideas — options — possibilities: all half-formed and unsophisticated and equally detrimental to his blood-pressure. He scrubbed his hands down the length of his face and groaned.

At length, he rolled to the pile of personal effects he had tossed to one corner of the floor: water bottle, towel, cell-phone. He tapped the device’s screen and noted the time. Susan hadn’t been asleep long, he suspected, her latest project necessitating long hours and intense concentration. Likewise, his kids _ should not _ and _ would not _be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at such an hour. He’d not survive the day, otherwise.

Consequently, at 4:49 a.m., in need of a distraction from his racing thoughts, Robert Downey, Jr. accessed Twitter, where he encountered the last thing in the world that he expected to encounter. 

He noticed her username, first. Once he had tapped the notification icon on his account, it was the first detail that attracted his attention. 

@IronMaiden09

_ Classic rock fan, _ he assumed. _ Good taste _. 

Within moments, however, having skimmed the contents of her post, both the trivial and the profound elements of Robert’s thought processes stuttered to a full halt. 

_ Wait, what? _

He read it again: closer. 

@IronMaiden09  
Perks of bein awake before dawn? Daddy/Daughter breakfast date.  
@RobertDowneyJr Peace in our time, y’all! Happy Thursday!  
#GirlOfIron #HouseStark #FueledByCoffeeAndNanotech

Attached to the post was a photograph of a pale, blonde woman perched on the lip of a windowsill, wrapped in a gun-metal afghan, and toasting the camera with a steaming coffee contained by an Iron Man mug.She was hamming the screen: her nose was scrunched, and her lips twisted in a wry, playful smirk. Her eyes were blue, and she appeared to have slept in a full face of make-up. None of these details, of course, rendered the post (or the tag) any less confusing. 

_ Daddy/Daughter breakfast date, _she had said. Where, then, was her father? She was alone in the photograph, and appeared to have taken it herself. Likewise, her hashtags were bizarre, undoubtedly requiring some sort of context that the post at large did not provide.

_ Girl of iron, _ he mused. _ Okay. House Stark: isn’t that actually Game of _ —? _ Why did she tag me in this? _

The obvious answer lie in the inclusion of the Iron Man coffee mug. Certainly, she wouldn’t be the first Marvel fan to tag him — or Mark, or Scarlett, or one of the Chrises — in a photo of _ Avengers _merchandise. Nevertheless….

_ Daddy/Daughter breakfast date _ — _ #HouseStark _ — _ Peace in our time, y’all! _

Robert’s intuition, honed by decades in the oftentimes precarious entertainment industry, flared into hyperdrive. 

_ Something’s weird. _

He tapped her profile picture in order to access her account. The post that he had been viewing was her most recent update, though certainly not her first. Immediately beneath the announcement of her “Daddy/Daughter date” was a post from the previous night, to which she — the Iron Maiden? — had attached a photograph of herself clad in an over-sized, white T-shirt featuring Tony Stark’s (and so, Robert’s) face.

Wide-eyed, he read the caption. 

@IronMaiden09  
“Doth Father know you weareth his swag?”  
#GirlOfIron #ThatStarkLife #Represent  
@RobertDowneyJr

The final inclusion of his username made Robert start. How often did this girl tag him?

The question was sufficiently answered via three or four swipes down her page.

@IronMaiden09  
Told ole boy at the garage I named my car the Mark X. He gave me a free oil change,  
and half an Almond Joy. I think he was cryin when I left. Thnx, Dad!  
@RobertDowneyJr #GirlOfIron #ThatStarkLifeTho

@IronMaiden09

Just scored a ton of blueberries at the FM on Broad. Daddy-o raised this girl right.  
@RobertDowneyJr #GirlOfIron #FavoriteAdLib #FavoriteScene  
#ScienceBroBondOverFruit #FueledByAntioxidantsAndNanotech

@IronMaiden09  
Office-mate brought in a box of McD’s fries, and for a sec, I straight thought it was  
Iron Man merch. Pls send help: ya girl is on a downward spiral. @RobertDowneyJr  
#GirlOfIron #SleepDeprivation #DeadlinesDeadlines #FueledByNothingAnymore

@IronMaiden09

Brought @JackAttack82 a coffee before his am lecture. He downed half of it and said,   
“Ah, proof that Katie Mack has a heart.” Jerkface. @RobertDowneyJr #GirlOfIron  
#ItsKateNotKatieDoofus #TheBoyKnowsMeTho

@IronMaiden09  
Successfully Loki-SDCC-2013’d a roomful-a screamin sophomores. Better feelin than  
tenure, I guarantee. @RobertDowneyJr @twhiddleston #GirlOfIron #LokiGirl  
#BlueAndGreenMakeUs 

@IronMaiden09

Dreamt I slapped a donut outta @ChrisEvans hand and screamed, “You wear the star-  
spangled banner, not the star-spangled spare tire.” Pls send help: I am cryyyyyyying.  
@RobertDowneyJr #GirlOfIron #IronBurn #CAPitalJoke #Ha

In spite of himself, Robert smiled. She — the Iron Maiden? — Katie? — oh, no, wait, #ItsKateNotKatiDoofus — was sort of funny. Or, at least, she attempted to be funny. Entertaining — clever — witty. Possibly, the Robert of a previous life could relate.

At the same time, though, clearly, Kate was alarmingly focused on Robert, and to a lesser extent, his castmates. One or two additional scrolls suggested that few if any of her posts were unrelated to the MCU in general and  _ Iron Man  _ in particular. Moreover, if her continuous usage of his username was any indication, all of Kate’s updates were calculated to attract Robert’s attention. Their tone was toying, their substance seemingly deliberately void of proper context. The entire scenario seemed at once like utter nonsense and anything but.

_ Something’s definitely weird.  _

The most disturbing element, as far as Robert was concerned, was Kate’s insistence upon referring to him as her father. Indeed, as that detail burned in the backs of Robert’s eyes, dread settled, hot and heavy, in his limbs.  _ Is this a creepy sex thing?  _ he thought.  _ Please, don’t let this be a creepy sex thing.  _

In the industry at large, it wasn’t unheard of — the conflation of fanaticism and sexual attraction. In his career, specifically, it  _ certainly  _ wasn’t unheard of. Nor had it always been a distinctly unappetizing phenomena. He (famously) hadn’t  _ always  _ been a faithful husband, devoted father, and more or less family-friendly personality. 

At present, however, he  _ was  _ so, and consequently, was disinclined to tolerate the sort of attention-seeking behavior that could easily escalate beyond his capacity to ignore it. He determined, then and there, to inform his manager and publicist of “the Iron Maiden” and her questionable antics. He’d have to tell Susan, as well, if for no other reason than that he told her everything. At the moment, of course, it was still too early, but by noon at the latest….

The title of one of Kate’s video-posts caught his attention. 

“Another Good Reason Why RDJ Should Agree to be My Dad.” 

Robert’s jaw dropped. 

_ Is she serious?!  _

Compelled by sheer, morbid curiosity, he tapped on the video, which, to his frustration, rendered matters all the more muddled. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all!
> 
> Originally, the description of the video was written in tradition narrative form...and I hated it. I hated this chapter so much when I first wrote it yesterday! So, today, I figured that since this is an RPF about actors, why not include some screenplay format? I hope that it transfers well to screen. I'm looking at it on a laptop; I do suspect that it will look funny on a phone or tablet. If so, I apologize, and hopefully, we can work something out! 
> 
> Thanks for all the love! Please feel free to comment. If you're curious about it, I'd love to talk to you.

_09 February 2018 - Six Months Prior _

EXT. PUBLIC SIDEWALK — DAY 

KATE MCGILL, 27, stands in front of a wall of snow-capped hedgery and bare-boned trees. She is smiling, dressed in a raven-black leather jacket zipped up to her chin, scarlet trousers, and leopard-print boots. She is wearing red lipstick, and in her right hand, she clutches a wireless microphone.

Alongside of her stands RODNEY ADAMS, 19, a tall, gangly boy stuffed into an unfortunately-shaded orange parka. He appears nervous, his eyes shifting between the camera and KATE again and again.

KATE smiles warmly toward the camera. 

KATE MCGILL 

(cheerily)

Hey, y’all!

She draws her free hand into a wide arch of a wave. 

KATE MCGILL

Welcome to this, the latest installment of “Reasons Why

Robert Downey, Jr. Should Agree to be my Dad.” We

are on episode _ ten _—!

She pulls her face into an exaggerated expression of surprise. 

KATE MCGILL

— which is _ many, many _more episodes than I ever

expected to shoot. The good news is, though: where there is

time, there is hope. 

She points to the camera, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. 

KATE MCGILL 

So, I’m not givin’ up yet. 

She extends her hand toward RODNEY. 

KATE MCGILL

Allow me to introduce my latest guest, Mr. Rodney Adams —. 

RODNEY proffers the camera an awkward wave, a fresh-out-of-puberty flush creeping up his neck. 

KATE MCGILL

— who is a student here in the town in which I live and work. 

(pointedly; laughing)

He’s not _ my _student, though. Let’s make that clear.

Ya girl is _ not _abusing her faculty privileges.

The CAMERAMAN laughs, low and loud, in the foreground. 

THE CAMERAMAN

(suggestively)

At least not today. 

KATE shoots him a sharp, warning expression.

She smiles once more when she returns to RODNEY, holding the microphone beneath his chin. 

KATE MCGILL 

How are ya today, Rodney?

RODNEY ducks his mouth closer to the microphone than necessary. 

RODNEY ADAMS

(muffled)

Good, thanks

KATE pulls the microphone slightly away from his mouth. 

KATE MCGILL 

(sweetly) 

That’s good to hear. So: you know the story, right?

You know what’s happenin’? 

RODNEY ADAMS

(shyly)

Yeah, uh, I’m a follower. 

KATE beams, and places her hand on his shoulder. 

RODNEY nearly melts into the sidewalk. 

KATE MCGILL

(enthusiastically) 

Awwwww! Thank you! I appreciate your support. 

(encouragingly)

All right so, you understand the situation.

What’s your reaction to it, though? What do you _ think _

about this whole _ ordeal _?

RODNEY keeps his eyes trained on the microphone. 

RODNEY ADAMS

(awkwardly)

Uh....I think it’s pretty cool. Hilarious. Kinda wish my

friends thought up pranks like this. 

KATE MCGILL

(laughing)

Hopefully, Izzy will come to realize that my

interpretation of friendship _ is in fact _in high demand.

RODNEY laughs awkwardly.

KATE MCGILL

All right, so: you’re a follower; you know the drill.

If you were tryna convince Robert Downey, Jr. to

agree to this scheme, how would you do it? What would

you say to him? 

RODNEY shuffles in place, and scrapes his hand down the back of his neck. 

RODNEY ADAMS

Uh...I don’t know? I guess I’d say, he should do it because

it’s funny, it’s harmless, and, uh...I don’t know: how

many chances does a guy get to help someone prank

their best friend? 

KATE offers him an appreciative chuckle, and pats him on the shoulder.

RODNEY turns bright red, and tries to sink into the concrete. 

KATE returns to the camera. 

KATE MCGILL 

There you have it, folks! Another set of _ very good reasons _why

RDJ _ should _hope aboard this crazy train! It’s funny;

it’s harmless; and it’s quite possibly the opportunity of a lifetime.

Thank you so much, Rodney!

KATE extends to him a round of applause. 

RODNEY nods, and steps out of sight. 

KATE approaches the camera. 

KATE MCGILL 

Now, Robert: if you’re watching —. 

KATE grins, and holds up a pair of crossed fingers. 

KATE MCGILL 

— I know you’re confused, and _ more than slightly _terrified.

But I promise you, this is _ exactly _your style. So what I

suggest is, scroll to the top of the page, check out the

account’s bio, and _ then _—. 

She points to the camera and clicks her tongue against her teeth. 

KATE MCGILL 

(mysteriously)

Begin at the beginning. 

KATE backs off of the camera, and claps her hands with finality. 

KATE MCGILL

(rapidly)

That’s all our time today, y’all. Once again, I appreciate the

support. Remember to like, favorite, and retweet to your heart’s

content. 

She tosses up a peace sign beneath her chin. 

KATE MCGILL 

Peace in our time, y’all! I’m outta here!

FREEZE: Kate waves at the camera.

* * *

_21 February 2018 - Six Months Prior _

Robert blinked. 

He stared at the muted screen of his cell-phone until Kate’s snow-bright features blurred, and the tinny sound of her voice ceased to echo in his ears, and then blinked again. When the screen turned black, he swept his thumb across the void, and then tapped a thoughtful tattoo upon the glass. A thousand and one reasons — _ a set of very good reasons _— to disregard Kate’s suggestion presented themselves, one by one, in the back of his mind. Bespoke Jiminy Crickets in the guises of Susan, his agent, even Mark, Scarlett, and his dad, all elbowing their ways to the fore of his conscience, until his chest felt full to bursting, and a slight tremor disturbed the structural integrity of his left eye.

Naturally, then, he promptly reopened his phone, and scrolled to the top of Kate’s account, where his eyes devoured its brief description. Immediately, his forehead collapsed, and his head tilted in confusion. While individually, he recognized the words beneath his thumb, when taken together, they seemed like utter nonsense. 

_ Ugh, she’s smart, _ thought Robert. _ Fan-tastic. _

Quickly, he scanned the vacant recesses of the room, as though in search of a hidden camera, or a person who would demand he submit to a voice of reason. At length, he scrolled to the bottom of Kate’s page, and commenced the unraveling of the mystery of the Iron Maiden.

Within a moment, he thought, _ What? _

Within a full minute, _ Wait...What?! _

And by the end of the first five, _ Oh, my God. You’re kidding me. _

By daybreak, he had been sat for nearly an hour, and had successfully consumed the narrative of Kate McGill in its complex and bizarre entirety. Gradually, he straightened his spine, the vertebrae _ pop-pop-popping _like fireworks, closed his phone, and rubbed the back of the hand still clutching it against his chin. He stared, eyes unfocused upon a near horizon, as his lips moved in voiceless recitation of Kate’s words. 

At length, he laughed.

“This is hilarious,” Robert ultimately determined.

Without further hesitation, he reopened his phone, and dialed Mark.


End file.
